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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28471449">everything all at once</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalefairyfandom12/pseuds/whalefairyfandom12'>whalefairyfandom12</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>WTFock | Skam (Belgium)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Britt and Robbe solidarity, Fandom Trumps Hate, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Fluff and Angst, Kato whomst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Season four never happened</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:13:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,308</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28471449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalefairyfandom12/pseuds/whalefairyfandom12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Robbe works at a coffee shop with Britt and Sander is nothing more than her headache of a boyfriend. But after the two break up, Sander and his horrible, coffee based pick up lines become a daily visitor. At first, Robbe thinks it's nothing more than an act and an attempt to get back at Britt. But as time goes by, he starts to see another side...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans, Senne De Smet/Zoë Loockx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fandom Trumps Hate 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>everything all at once</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashleymoshow/gifts">Ashleymoshow</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A massive thank you to ashleymoshow for being so incredibly patient throughout my horrendous procrastination! I'm sorry it's not quite 10k words--but I hope you like it okay anyway xx.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“He’s such a dick,” Britt says. Robbe hums his agreement, scrubbing down the bar. “I mean, it hasn’t even been a week and he’s already making out with someone else.” </p><p> </p><p>“Definitely a dick,” he agrees absently. There’s a coffee stain that just won’t come out, and he swears the longer he scrubs the worse it gets. Cleaning’s only satisfying when progress is actually made. He startles as Britt slams her coffee cup in front of him. </p><p> </p><p>“Robbe! Are you even listening to me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sander’s a dick,” he recounts. “He went to a party with someone else and probably got drunk. And then they kissed. Four days after you two broke up.” </p><p> </p><p>Mollified, Britt leans back and returns to scrolling on her phone. “It’s shit,” she says after a pause.</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Robbe says. He does, kind of. None of his breakups have ever been that dramatic, but neither were the relationships. Still, a breakup is a breakup especially when you’re the one getting dumped. And Britt is kind of one of the only friends he has, if he can call her that. “I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“We were in <em> love </em>,” Britt says, which Robbe thinks is a tad melodramatic considering they’re only twenty. “We were planning on moving in together, getting married.”</p><p> </p><p>That does give him pause. “Marriage? Already?”</p><p> </p><p>Britt gives him a disparaging look. “We were together for three years, Robbe. Maybe if you’d ever been in a real relationship you’d understand.” She blanches. “I’m sorry, that was bitchy. I just...I really loved him.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe smiles past the tightness in his chest. “It’s fine,” he says. He’s long since learned that he’s not meant for a relationship. And he’s okay with that. Mostly.  Sure, sometimes he wonders what things would be like if he were different; less fucked up, into the right kind of person, but it’s nothing more than a passing fancy. </p><p> </p><p>And looking at Britt now, heartbroken and already on another Sander rant, she only proves his point. Better to stay away from pretty boys and their blue eyes. He scrubs the counter a little harder. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>“Horrible music,” someone says. “Crowded tables, overpriced drinks...the barista isn’t bad looking, though. One star on booking.com.” </p><p> </p><p>Robbe looks up to see Sander lounging against the counter, white hair rumpled and unbothered. It’s irritating how attractive he is. “Britt isn’t here,” he says. </p><p> </p><p>Sander quirks an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’re out of macchiatos?” </p><p> </p><p>“No.” </p><p> </p><p>“Great. I’ll have a medium, caramel.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe sighs, folding the rag and slinging it over his shoulder. “That’ll be four fifty.” He sidles towards the espresso machine, pointedly ignoring Sander’s whistling. </p><p> </p><p>“You need to play a better station,” he says. “Maybe some Bowie.” </p><p> </p><p>“Britt picks the radio,” Robbe says. “I don’t know what it is.” He pauses his macchiato making to grab the receipt, setting it and a pen on the counter. He steadies the cup with one hand, drizzling the caramel in a rough approximation of a smiley face. Britt’s been getting on him about improving his drink artistry, but in three months this is as far as he’s gotten. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t I get my name on the cup?” Sander asks. </p><p> </p><p>Robbe snaps on the lid, picking up the Sharpie and scribbling the other man’s name. He’s learned the fastest way to get rid of Sander is to play along. “Is that one ‘a' or two?”</p><p> </p><p>“I can be whatever you want me to be,” he says, with a smirk just this side of inappropriate. </p><p> </p><p>Robbe looks at him, deadpan. “Gone.”</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, Sander almost looks dejected. Then the cocky, teasing grin is back, and Robbe’s sure he must’ve been imagining things. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I can feel something <em> brewing </em> between the two of us.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe stares at him. “That was shit.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll come up with a better one tomorrow.” Sander leaves with another jangle of the shop bell, and Robbe refills the coffee machine. Something was brewing, but it certainly wasn’t between the two of them. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>True to his word, Sander was back the next morning. “No sugar,” he says. “You’re sweet enough for me.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe valiantly fights his blush.He’d never been this weak before, but Sander had always had a way of getting under his skin. “Suit yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t like that one?” Sander pouts, and it’s unfair how adorable he looks. “It’s not my fault I like you a latte.” </p><p> </p><p>This time Robbe can’t stop himself from smiling, just the smallest amount. Just because Sander is so unbelievably ridiculous, and not because he’s cute or anything. He can’t be, not when he’s Britt’s ex. “Caramel macchiato?”</p><p> </p><p>“You memorized my order,” Sander says, brightening. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve memorized everyone’s order.” </p><p> </p><p>“And here I thought I was special.” </p><p> </p><p>Robbe busies himself with Sander’s drink instead of answering. This was a trap he was eager to avoid. He’s learned his lesson when it came to Sander and flirting—namely that Sander didn’t mean it. Not like Robbe wished he did, single or not. </p><p> </p><p>The door swings open, and then-- “Sander?” Britt asks. Her apron is halfway on as she gapes, frozen in place. </p><p> </p><p>Sander’s smile disappears. He throws a twenty on the counter. “Keep the change.” Then he’s gone before Robbe can hand him his drink.</p><p> </p><p>“What was he doing here?” Britt asked, suddenly a flurry of movement. She elbows him out of the way and rummages through the drawer. Robbe still can’t tear his eyes away from Sander’s retreating form. “Did he ask for me? Why did he leave?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know,” Robbe says. There’s something bitter in his throat that lingers even after Britt changes the subject. He takes a drink of Sander’s abandoned macchiato before remembering he never added any sugar.  </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>Sander doesn’t come the next day. Robbe pretends he doesn’t notice. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>It’s another day before Sander reappears. Not that Robbe was counting or anything. </p><p> </p><p>“My favorite barista!” Sander says cheerily, somehow brighter than the doorbell. He saunters towards the counter, looking for all the world as though nothing had ever happened.  </p><p> </p><p>“Where were you?” Robbe asks, curiosity getting the better of him. </p><p> </p><p>“Miss me?” </p><p> </p><p>“No. Not at all. I was just curious. Never mind.” Robbe opens the fridge, using it as an excuse not to look at Sander. He can feel himself blushing. It was better without Sander. Safer. </p><p> </p><p>“Caramel macchiato,” Sander says, peering over the ledge of the counter. “But you knew that already.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe slams the fridge shut, mixing the macchiato as quickly as he can. He wonders if he can re-vanish Sander himself. He draws the stupid smiley face and hands it over. “On the house,” he says. “You forgot yours last time.”</p><p> </p><p>Sander delicately takes a sip. “It’s hot,” he says, pulling a face. Robbe’s stammering out an apology when he winks. “But you’re hotter.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe thinks one of these days it’s only a matter of time before he spontaneously combusts. Thankfully Sander doesn’t linger today, leaving shortly thereafter. It’s until later that Robbe notices a piece of paper stuck to the cash register. He unfolds it, and is glad no one’s around to notice his smile. There’s a doodle of him at the coffee machine, hair in disarray. He traces a finger over the signerature. <em> SD &lt;3 </em></p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>“What’re you doing?” Zoë asks. </p><p> </p><p>Robbe jumps, immediately turning his phone off from where he definitely hasn’t been looking at Sander’s Instagram. “Nothing.” </p><p> </p><p>She gives him a look. Which, considering she’s put up with Senne’s bullshit for so long it’s unsurprising she can see through his. “Sure.” </p><p> </p><p>“Do you know Sander Driesen?” Robbe blurts before his brain can catch up. </p><p> </p><p>“Britt’s boyfriend?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ex,” he corrects, before realizing he’s just implicated himself. “I mean, I’ve seen him at the coffee shop a few times.” </p><p> </p><p>“Not really,” Zoë says. “I’ve seen him around a few times. Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know,” Robbe groans, burying his face in his hands. “He comes in every day with these ridiculous pick up lines. He only comes when Britt is on break. It’s fucking with my head.”</p><p> </p><p>“If Sander is messing with you, you need to tell him to leave you alone,” Zoë says. “Especially if it’s stressing you out this much.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Robbe grumbles. Zoë is always right. It would be annoying if she wasn’t so helpful. She pats him on the shoulder, and once she’s safely out of sight he continues not-scrolling through Sander’s Instagram. Just in case.</p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>This morning, Sander opens with “Have I ever told you I like the way you espresso self?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m done,” Robbe says. He can’t let Sander keep talking; charm him like he had before, or he’d get distracted. He’d carefully planned his speech out, assessing every possibility to ensure he couldn’t be ambushed. But here, staring at Sander’s stupid blue eyes and puppy dog expression his words vanish. “This...game you’re playing, or whatever. Leave me out of it.”</p><p> </p><p>Sander is uncharacteristically still. “What game?”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe frowns, the first spark of anger finally igniting. “You come in here every morning and hit on me like I don’t know it’s just to get back at Britt. Or it’s some kind of joke.” He balls his hands. “I get it, I’m fresh out of the closet and friends with your ex. But it’s not a game. <em>I’m</em> not a game.” </p><p> </p><p>“What if I wasn’t joking?” Sander shifted, expression dangerously vulnerable. Robbe averts his eyes, scared of what he might find if he looked. </p><p> </p><p>“You were,” Robbe says. Sander has to be. The alternative is too ridiculous to even consider. </p><p> </p><p>“I saw you the first day of class,” Sander says. “You were so beautiful.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe can hear his heart thumping in his ears, and he resists the urge to pinch himself. He must be dreaming, that’s the only explanation that makes sense. </p><p> </p><p>“I wanted to talk to you for weeks,” Sander continues. “But it never seemed like the right time. And then Britt introduced us.” </p><p> </p><p>“I remember,” Robbe says, letting out an amused huff despite himself. “We went to the grocery store to pick up dinner.” Sander had jumped on the back of the shopping cart and spun through the aisles. His laugh had sparked something deep inside Robbe’s chest he’d forgotten existed. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s when I knew,” Sander says. He leans forward, resting his elbows against the counter. </p><p> </p><p>“What about Britt?” Robbe asks. </p><p> </p><p>“What about her?” </p><p> </p><p>“You broke up with her.” </p><p> </p><p>Sander sighs, dropping his gaze. “It was a long time coming.” </p><p> </p><p>Maybe it’s rude to push him, but Robbe can’t help himself. “What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“Britt and I started dating three years ago,” Sander says. “We’ve been through a lot together.” He hesitates. “I’ve put her through a lot.” Robbe frowns, but before he can ask Sander keeps talking. “We’ve broken up and gotten back together so many times I’ve lost count.” </p><p> </p><p>“Are you saying you’ll get back together?” Robbe asks, ignoring the way his heart sank. </p><p> </p><p>“No! No.” Sander wrinkles his nose. “But it wasn’t exactly a surprise.” </p><p> </p><p>“Why’s this time different?” </p><p> </p><p>“You.” Sander finally meets his eyes, and Robbe is taken aback by the sheer affection in the other boy’s gaze. “I wasn’t joking. Will you go on a date with me?” </p><p> </p><p>Robbe’s pretty sure his brain has short circuited. All he can hear is the thudding of his heart, trapped behind his throat as he tries to make his lips work. Maybe he should pinch himself; he’s not convinced he isn’t dreaming. The light in Sander’s eyes dims at Robbe’s silence, and it’s this that finally spurs him into action. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Robbe says, and at the utterance of the single word euphoric joy splits his face into a grin. He’s even too happy to feel embarrassed about how ridiculous he must look. “When?”</p><p> </p><p>Sander’s practically beaming, running a hand through his hair until it’s standing on end. It’s cute. “Now.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe drops his towel. “Right now?” </p><p> </p><p>“I know a place,” Sander says. </p><p> </p><p>It’s tempting, too tempting, but there’s still half an hour until the end of his shift. And there’s no one coming in until morning. “I can’t,” Robbe says. “I have to finish my shift.”</p><p> </p><p>Sander leans over and flips the sign from <em> open </em> to <em> closed </em>. “What shift?”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe laughs, shaking his head. He’s never met someone so unabashedly unashamed. It’s intoxicating. </p><p> </p><p>They leave the coffee shop and sprint down the street, tripping over laughter and cracks in the pavement. Robbe isn’t sure why they’re running but he runs like his life depends on it, giddy from adrenaline. Halfway, his and Sander’s hands find one another’s. Their fingers intertwine as naturally as breathing. </p><p> </p><p>Sander leads him down a side street and stops at one of the doors. “In here,” he says. </p><p> </p><p>“Where are we?” Robbe asks, following him inside. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ll see.”</p><p> </p><p>Eventually the hallway opens up to a pool, stretching from wall to wall. Sander throws his arms out dramatically. </p><p> </p><p>“Where are we?” Robbe asks, keeping his voice low. </p><p> </p><p>“You worry too much,” Sander says. He cups his hands around his mouth and whoops into the silence. Before Robbe can tell him to be quiet, Sander takes off his shirt. </p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing?” Robbe hisses. He catches a glimpse of pale skin and turns away, blushing. </p><p> </p><p>“What does it look like?” With another whoop Sander jumps into the pool. He emerges a few seconds later. “Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>“No way. It’s fucking freezing.” Robbe yelps as Sander splashes him. “I’m serious.” </p><p> </p><p>“Me too. Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe hesitates. He turns around and undresses quickly, trying not to think about what the fuck he’s actually doing. Sander cheers as he takes a running leap into the water, gasping at the sudden rush of cold. </p><p> </p><p>“See?” Sander asks, suddenly much closer than he’d been a minute ago. “Not so bad.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe’s breath catches in his throat for reasons entirely unrelated to the chill. “Not so bad,” he echoes. His eyes drop to Sander’s lips, shiny from the water. A thrill shoots through him as Sander mimics the movement. He isn’t underwater, but he’s still holding his breath. It seems as though any sound could shatter the moment, and he isn’t about to test it. </p><p> </p><p>Sander grabs his hand and pulls him into a kiss. His mouth is warm and hungry, and Robbe kisses back just as eagerly. He uses his free hand to grip Sander’s hair, drawing their bodies closer. He’s painfully aware of their nakedness, and each brush of skin sends another thrill down his spine. </p><p> </p><p>They come apart for air, smiling against each other’s lips. Any worries about the cold were unnecessary, because Robbe thinks nothing can reach him through this high. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been wanting to do that for years,” Sander says, nearly inaudible. </p><p> </p><p>“Me too,” Robbe says. Before he knew Sander’s name, and just saw him around campus. This time he leans in first. He runs his tongue against the other boy’s, biting gently on Sander’s lower lip. He’s gratified with a quiet gasp, and Robbe moans at the sound. Despite the chill of the water, other parts of his body are starting to take interest. </p><p> </p><p>A sharp voice cuts through the air. “Hey! What the fuck are you two doing!”</p><p> </p><p>“Shit!” Sander grabs his hand and pulls him towards the ladder. “Fuck.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe scrambles to dry land, gathering his clothes without bothering to put them on. He glances behind him as the guard starts towards them. “Fuck,” he agrees, before sprinting up the stairs after Sander. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>The knock interrupts them far too early. “Robbe?”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe groans, rolling over. He stops as he bumps into someone else, opening his eyes to see Sander laying beside him. He can’t help the grin that dawns. Part of him had been convinced he’d dream the entire night up. </p><p> </p><p>“Robbe?” Milan knocks again, a little more insistently this time. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sleeping!” Robbe snaps. </p><p> </p><p>“Zoë wanted me to tell you she made breakfast, but I’m not saving you any,” Milan says, clearly miffed. Fuck. Robbe will have to apologize to him later. </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks!” he calls belatedly. He turns back to Sander, who is no longer asleep but staring at him with a sweet smile. “Morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good morning.” Sander snuggles deeper under the blankets, beckoning Robbe closer. It doesn’t take much convincing. </p><p> </p><p>“I thought last night had been a dream,” Robbe admits. </p><p> </p><p>“Me too,” Sander says. “But I couldn’t have imagined anything this good.” </p><p> </p><p>Robbe’s sure they both have morning breath, but he kisses Sander anyway. It’s been longer than he’d like to admit since he had someone in bed with him. Even longer since they’d stayed. Sander is warm and beautiful and better than anything he’d dared hope for. “I wish we could stay here forever,” he confesses. </p><p> </p><p>Sander rests their foreheads together. “Everything ends.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t say that. I don’t want to think about bad things today.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s true.” A crease appears between Sander’s brows. “The only way to escape your own thoughts is to die.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe smooths Sander’s forehead. “That’s depressing.” He means for it to be light, but Sander shakes his head with a humorless laugh. </p><p> </p><p>“I forget how young you are sometimes.” Sander looks back at him, bumping their noses together. “But you’re right. What do you want for breakfast? I’ll cook you anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think Zoë already made breakfast,” Robbe says apologetically. “But that sounds good.” </p><p> </p><p>“Do I get to meet your roommates?” Sander asks. </p><p> </p><p>The thought makes Robbe die a little inside, but he nods. “You might want to put a shirt on first,” he says. Especially around Milan. </p><p> </p><p>“Probably,” Sander laughs. He fishes through the blankets and finds Robbe’s shirt, pulling it on instead. “Here, you can have mine.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe smiles, rubbing the cotton between his fingers. He resists the urge to sniff it like some kind of fourteen year old girl. He slips on the shirt and opens the door, hearing Zoë, Milan, and Senne laughing from the kitchen. </p><p> </p><p>“Are those French croissants?” Sander asks. The conversation stops, and all eyes turn to him and Robbe. </p><p> </p><p>“Help yourself,” Zoë says, gesturing to the pan. It’s all the encouragement Sander needs. </p><p> </p><p>“These are amazing,” he says. He holds it out to Robbe. “Try it.” Still self-conscious of everyone’s eyes, Robbe acquiesces. </p><p> </p><p>“You must be Sander,” Senne says. </p><p> </p><p>“I wondered how Robbe hadn’t starved to death yet,” Sander says. “At least someone knows how to cook.” </p><p> </p><p>“Hey!” Robbe protests, but the rest of his friends are laughing and he can’t help but smile. Seeing all of them here, together, it’s not something he ever thought he’d have the luxury of having. </p><p> </p><p>“But,” Sander says, kissing him on the cheek. “You do make a good macchiato.” </p><p> </p><p>“He never makes <em> me </em>macchiatos,” Milan says. </p><p> </p><p>“I only make macchiatos for cute people,” Robbe retorts. Emboldened, he kisses Sander properly this time. The other boy smiles against his lips, draping his arms around his neck. </p><p> </p><p>“First he won’t make me a macchiato, now he’s making out in my kitchen,” Milan complains. Robbe isn’t sure what happens feels like, but he imagines it’s something a little like this. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>When Robbe goes into work the next day, it’s all he can do not to smile. Still, he goes about his routine with more liveliness than usual. Sander promised to meet him after his shift, and with that knowledge he feels like he’s on cloud nine. </p><p> </p><p>“Why’re you so happy?” Britt asks suspiciously. </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing,” Robbe says, before realizing that didn’t quite make sense as an answer. “Just in a good mood, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>She eyes him for another moment. “I’m glad one of us is.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is it Sander?” he asks, because he’s a masochist.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“A little,” Britt says. She leans against the table, staring at the ground. “Have you ever felt like everyone expects you to be something you’re not? Just to fit in you have to do or say the right thing even if it’s not always clear what that is.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe rolls his eyes. “All the time.” </p><p> </p><p>“But I look at you, and I don’t see that kind of person. You’re kind of grumpy, a little rude sometimes, but you’re just <em> you. </em> You never seem like you’re pretending. How?”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe looks around the shop, but they’re the only two inside. He rubs the back of his neck, deliberating. He’s never been one to really talk about his feelings, but considering everything it’s really the last he can do. “Before I came out I used to pretend all the time. I’d go to parties and hook up with all these girls. But it was never real. I never called any of them back, I just wanted my friends to think I was straight.” Frankly, he’d been kind of shitty. “But after I came out, they were completely chill. And I felt like I could be myself, for the first time ever.” He clears his throat, ducking his head.</p><p> </p><p>“What about your family?” Britt asks.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Robbe grimaces, which is maybe a little unfair. “They’ve come around,” he hedges. “But we’ve never been close.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sander, everything, was planned out for me for so long I thought that’s how things were supposed to be,” Britt says. “I just went along with it. But now, I don’t know.” She gives him a watery smile. “Thanks, Robbe.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a good friend,” he says, swerving the compliment. If she knew the truth, she wouldn’t be thanking him. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>Sander meets him a few streets away, per Robbe’s request. </p><p> </p><p>“I think you’re overthinking this,” Sander says as he approaches, giving him a quick kiss. “Who cares if people know we’re together? Your flatmates already know and they don’t care.”</p><p> </p><p>“Britt,” Robbe says. </p><p> </p><p>“Britt who?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sander.” He grabs the other boy’s hand, halting him. “I’m serious.”</p><p> </p><p>Sander smiles, tracing the lines of his mouth. “You’re cute when you’re worried.” At Robbe’s unrelenting look he sighs. “Britt and I aren’t together anymore. She doesn’t control me, and she doesn’t control you.” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not about control,” Robbe says. “She’s my friend. I don’t want her to get hurt.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve already hurt her, Robbe,” Sander says, tone sharp and jagged. “We both have.” Robbe recoils at his voice, and Sander’s expression softens. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her if it bothers you.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Robbe says. As tempting as it is to let Sander handle things, Britt’s friendship is his responsibility. “I will. Soon. But until then.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Sander agrees. “Sneaking around could be kind of fun, you never know.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe rolls his eyes. “Where did you want to show me?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s up this way,” Sander says. They weave through the streets towards one of the apartment buildings lining the square. He gestures Robbe through the lobby and towards a set of stairs heading towards the roof. </p><p> </p><p>“How do you find these places?” Robbe asks. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t want to know,” Sander says. “Just enjoy the view.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe has to admit--it is a view. The city stretches out beneath, and when he squints he thinks he can see the coffee shop. It almost looks close enough to touch. </p><p> </p><p>“You have to bring your own drinks,” Sander says. “And the entertainment is questionable.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe circles the perimeter of the terrace, trying to keep his expression flat. “I don’t know. Three point four stars on booking.com.” Sander laughs, and then Robbe can’t maintain the ruse any further. They settle on one of the benches, staring at the horizon. If he listens he can hear the traffic below, but it’s quiet enough to pretend they’re the last two men on earth.</p><p> </p><p>“Have you ever been in love?” Robbe asks. </p><p> </p><p>Sander hums, playing with Robbe’s hair. He twists the strands around his fingers in a comforting rhythm. “Once. With Britt. But that was a long time ago. You?”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe hesitates. “I thought I was,” he says. He’d thought he was in love with Jens since they first met. But now he’s not so sure. It was nothing like he feels for Sander--<em> alive </em>, like every nerve is alight simply by being near. </p><p> </p><p>“But you don’t think so now?” Sander prompts, drawing him back to the conversation. </p><p> </p><p>He shrugs. “How do you even know if you’re in love?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s like...when you see a meme they’re the first person you want to show.” Sander’s brow furrows. “They’re the first person you want to show <em> everything </em> , actually <em> . </em>Everything reminds you of them. You can talk for hours and never run out of things to say. Or just lay together and never feel bored. And when you think about the future, you picture them in it.”</p><p> </p><p>“It sounds nice,” Robbe says. He’s certainly never felt anything like Sander’s describing. His crush on Jens was more like a bandaid for the gaping wound underneath. “Sounds like you’re thinking about someone in particular.”</p><p> </p><p>Sander smiles. “I am.” </p><p> </p><p>Robbe blushes, hiding his face in Sander’s shoulder. They sit awhile longer, fingers intertwining and then eventually their legs. It’s peaceful. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>Their dates become a daily occurrence. Depending on Robbe’s shift, Sander will meet him before or after and whisk him off to another part of the city. He remains infuriatingly mysterious about how he’s discovered most of these locations, but Robbe never fails to be enchanted. </p><p> </p><p>Today it was one of their more mundane trips to the park. But Robbe’s starting to think any time spent with Sander is special. Which is exactly the kind of disgusting thought he would’ve mercilessly made fun of Jens for. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sander says, straightening Robbe’s collar. “I put in an advanced order for my macchiato with the cute barista.” </p><p> </p><p>Robbe smiles and kisses Sander goodbye. He starts to pull away, but Sander grabs the front of his jacket and deepens the kiss. He’s more than happy to follow. </p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck?!” </p><p> </p><p>At the sound of Britt’s voice Robbe jerks away from Sander, practically throwing him across the room in his haste. But the damage is done. </p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck is this?” Britt demands, stalking towards them. Her face is flushed with anger, eyes bright and pained. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not what you think,” Robbe says, panicking. </p><p> </p><p>“What, you’re not fucking my ex behind my back?” </p><p> </p><p>“No!” he denies weakly. They haven’t had sex yet, but somehow he doesn’t think telling Britt that will improve the situation. He looks to Sander for help. </p><p> </p><p>“We’re not together anymore,” Sander says, the coldest Robbe has ever seen him. “Who I fuck is none of your business.” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t say that,” Britt says. “Not after everything.” Her gaze whips to Robbe. “He doesn’t even know, does he?”</p><p> </p><p>“Know what?” Robbe asks. He flinches as Sander pushes past him to lock glares with Britt. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t,” Sander warns, and the syllable sends a shiver down Robbe’s spine. There’s no trace of the Sander that drew him while sleeping or held his hand on the rooftops. This is something dangerous. </p><p> </p><p>Britt scoffs. Her stance doesn’t waver, but she rips her eyes away first. “He’ll find out soon enough.” She looks at Robbe. “Thanks for nothing.” The words are angry, but as she shoves her way out the door Robbe can swear he can see tears. </p><p> </p><p>He hesitates, torn between following and staying with Sander. He still hasn’t moved, staring at Britt’s vacancy with hunched shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>“Sander?” Robbe asks quietly. </p><p> </p><p>A pause, and then Sander turns with his usual grin. It’s hollow, though, something empty eating away at the typical bravado. It’s a little unnerving, and Robbe can’t help but take a step back. Sander clocks the movement and frowns. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Britt and I don’t exactly bring out the best in each other. But you shouldn’t have been dragged into it.”</p><p> </p><p>“What did she mean that I’d ‘find out?’” Robbe asks. </p><p> </p><p>Sander sighs, and the rest of his facade drops. “I’ll tell you,” he says. “About that and anything else you want to know. Just...not today. Please. Any other day.” He looks so lost that Robbe can’t help but agree. </p><p> </p><p>He kisses Sander on the cheek, reaching for his hand. “Do you want to come back to my place?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe later,” Sander says, squeezing his hand. “I have a few errands to run first.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe frowns. Sander had never turned down an invitation before. “Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sander says distantly. </p><p> </p><p>Then Robbe is left alone in the shop, more confused than he was before. He lets his eyes flutter closed, and braces himself against the wall. He exhales, slowly, until he feels less like throwing up. He can’t call out, especially with Britt gone. He’ll finish out the shift and then he’ll fix this. He has to. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>Robbe has no idea how to fix this. He texts Sander a couple of times, and even calls him, but there’s still no answer. </p><p> </p><p>“Milan?” Robbe asks, knocking on the older boy’s door. </p><p> </p><p>“Come in!” Milan calls, clearing space on the bed. </p><p> </p><p>Robbe pauses, eyeing the bed dubiously. “Is it safe to sit here, or?”</p><p> </p><p>“What? Oh,” Milan waves a dismissive hand. “I do clean my sheets, Robbe. You’re fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe had learned the hard way to be careful where you sat in Milan’s room, but he takes his word and sits on the edge of the bed. “I was wondering, actually, um…” He winces, fighting the urge to retreat back to the safety of his room. “Well, the thing is. I have this problem.”</p><p> </p><p>He swears Milan actually perks up. “And you need <em> my </em> advice?”</p><p> </p><p>“This was a bad idea. I’m leaving.”</p><p> </p><p>“No no, stay. I promise I’ll behave.” Milan looks at him expectantly, and Robbe resigns himself to seeing this out. “Is it about that boyfriend of yours? Sander?”</p><p> </p><p>“Kind of? It’s about his ex-girlfriend, Britt.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s always an ex-girlfriend,” Milan says wisely. </p><p> </p><p>“We work together. She’s nice, we’re friends. Were friends. I didn’t tell her Sander and I started dating, and she walked in on us kissing.”</p><p> </p><p>Milan tsks. “That’s never a good start.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I know that <em> now </em>,” Robbe says irritably. “But what do I do now? She hasn’t been into work since, and Sander isn’t answering his phone either.” </p><p> </p><p>“So let me get this right,” Milan says. “Britt and Sander break up. You and Sander start dating. Neither of you tell Britt. She finds out. Drama.”</p><p> </p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p> </p><p>Milan nods. “Well, have you told Britt you’re sorry?”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe laughs, then realizes he’s serious. “What, really? Just ask to talk and tell her I’m sorry for fucking her boyfriend behind her back?”</p><p> </p><p>“Have you fucked?”</p><p> </p><p>“Milan!”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s her <em> ex </em>-boyfriend,” Milan corrects, thankfully getting back on track. “And she’s not going to bite.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t know that,” Robbe counters, quite rationally he thinks. </p><p> </p><p>“Once you get things figured out with Britt you can talk to Sander and resume your relationship guilt free!” Milan pauses. “But, if you are having sex it’s important to make sure you’re being safe. As far I know neither of you can get pregnant, but you still have to be careful about STDs.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Robbe groans, holding his hands over his ears. “I’m good, Milan. Really.”</p><p> </p><p>He manages to escape with only a few more inappropriate ‘tips and tricks’, but he does text Britt and ask if they can talk. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>Britt agrees to meet before her shift, and Milan has to push Robbe out the door. </p><p> </p><p>“Bring me back a pastry!” the older boy calls. Robbe flips him off. </p><p> </p><p>He can see Britt through the window as he draws closer, sitting at one of the tables and scrolling through her phone. She looks tired; hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and clothes rumpled. And Britt had always given <em> him </em> shit for not ironing his clothes. </p><p> </p><p>He takes a deep breath and steps inside. Britt looks up at his arrival and smiles wanly. Still, it’s something. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” he says, gingerly taking the seat opposite. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Britt says. “How’re you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine.” Maybe that sounds abrupt. “What about you?” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Brit says instead, much to Robbe’s surprise. In the time they’ve been friends he doesn’t think he’s ever heard her apologize. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. It’s not your fault that Sander and I have issues.” She sighs. “I’ll always love him, but I guess I need to accept he doesn’t love me. Not anymore.” </p><p> </p><p>Robbe fiddles with the zipper of his jacket. He wishes he were better at speaking—at saying the right thing and making people feel better. “He does,” he says. </p><p> </p><p>“No, he doesn’t. At least, not like I do.” </p><p> </p><p>Robbe wets his lips, leaning forward. He knows it’s wrong to ask, but a bigger part of him just wants the truth. “What did you mean when you said ‘I’d find out?’”</p><p> </p><p>Britt grimaces, tugging on the end of her ponytail. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not my story to tell.” </p><p> </p><p>“Is Sander in trouble?” </p><p> </p><p>“No, nothing like that. I’m sorry for even mentioning it.” She meets his gaze, pleading. “Will you tell him that I’m sorry?”</p><p> </p><p>Whatever drama is going on between Britt and Sander, Robbe’s not sure he wants to get involved. Anymore involved, at least. “Tell him yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve tried. He blocked my number.” </p><p> </p><p>Robbe frowns. He wonders if he’s looking at his own future, after Sander’s gotten bored of him and found someone better. “Really?” </p><p> </p><p>Britt shrugs. “He does this a lot.” She crosses her arms, looking incredibly weary. “If anything happens, though, or you need any help just...call me.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe wants to ask why he’d need her help, or what she seems to think would go wrong, but he assumes it’s part of whatever ‘secret’ Sander hasn’t told him yet. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>If there’s one thing Milan’s good at (besides the occasional advice) it’s distraction. Which is why for the first time in history Robbe’s accompanied him to a party without complaint. Sander still hasn’t messaged him back, and he’s desperate to pretend just for a night that he’s not going crazy. He doesn’t even know whose house this is, but Milan promised plenty of weed which was all Robbe needed to hear. </p><p> </p><p>The event’s already in full swing, light escaping from underneath the door to pool on the cobblestones leading to the front door. Robbe finds a group of people with weed quickly enough. They let him borrow a light and give him a joint, and he settles in for a blissful night of high. </p><p> </p><p>The last person he expects to see is Sander. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Sander says, and for the first time since Robbe’s known him he looks uncomfortable. “I’m sorry I haven’t answered your messages. I’ve been really busy with class.” It’s a lame excuse, and both of them know it. </p><p> </p><p>Robbe shrugs. “Whatever.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I mean it. I’m sorry.” Sander licks his lips, taking in the group of nearby smokers. “Is there somewhere we can talk? Alone?”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe climbs to his feet and heads towards the driveway. He doesn’t wait to see if Sander follows.</p><p> </p><p>“After I saw Britt I guess I just freaked out,” Sander says, still avoiding his gaze. “I had to go home and help my parents with a few things.” </p><p> </p><p>“Your phone stopped working?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, you’re right. I should have told you, I’m sorry.” Sander finally meets his eyes, pleading. “I’m so sorry, Robbe.”</p><p> </p><p>“I talked to Britt,” Robbe says, a little grumpily. There’s no way he can have been moved already. “We’re good, I think.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you talk about--”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he says. “She said it’s ‘your story to tell’ or whatever.” He peers at Sander. “Whatever it is, you know you can tell me anything, right?” </p><p> </p><p>Sander nods. “I will,” he vows. “Someday soon. I just...need a little time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Robbe says. Sander’s absence has given him some time to think, and he steels himself for what comes next. He can do it. He thinks. “I love you.” Now, the words are tumbling from his lips before he can stop. “At least, I think I do. I think about you a lot. I don’t know what love’s supposed to feel like but you make me really happy and I can’t stop thinking about you. And I kind of want to kiss you.”</p><p> </p><p>Sander’s smile is brilliant. “I love you too.” He places a gentle hand under Robbe’s chin, the movement slow and tentative. They’re close enough for Robbe to count every freckle dusting Sander’s eyelids, and for a moment he forgets how to breathe. He leans in, closing his eyes and brushes his lips against Sander’s.</p><p> </p><p>His mouth is soft and warm, and Robbe feels like every inch that’s in contact is burning hot and cold at the same time with enough light to destroy a black hole. There's a part of him that never wants to let go. He finds Sky’s free hand, linking their fingers together. He rests his forehead against theirs, opening his eyes. The two stare at each other in silence, and Peter can’t help the ridiculously wide smile that spreads across his face.</p><p> </p><p>“You make me happy too,” Sander says quietly. He tightens his grip, thumb tapping a soundless beat against the back of their joined hands. “I love you. Just in case you didn’t hear it the first time.”</p><p> </p><p>“I love you too. Just in case.” Robbe pulls him into a hug and rests his head on Sander’s shoulder, tightening his hold. The stupidly large part of him never wants to let go.</p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>They check into a hotel for the night at Sander’s behest, and kiss the entire way up the elevator. The door swings open unceremoniously under their weight, and they only pause for air once they’re laying on the bed. </p><p> </p><p>“I wish I’d met you sooner,” Sander whispers, cupping Robbe’s cheek. </p><p> </p><p>Robbe places his hand over Sander’s. “But we might’ve been someone different,” he says softly. “And I like us now.” </p><p> </p><p>Sander smiles, and seals their lips together again. He shifts his weight until he’s on top, slotting their legs together. Robbe instinctively grinds against the other boy’s knee, gasping at the first brush of touch. Even if it hadn’t been awhile, there’s something about Sander that makes him embarrassingly weak. </p><p> </p><p>He tugs Sander’s shirt off, letting his hands roam free over the expanse of skin. He catalogues every dip and curve, every moan. He raises his arms and discards his own shirt, and then they’re bare skin against skin. Like their first kiss in the pool. </p><p> </p><p>“I love you,” Robbe whispers. </p><p> </p><p>“I love you too,” Sander says, and then takes him in his hand. It’s the last coherent thing either of them murmur for quite some time. </p><p> </p><p>:: </p><p> </p><p>When Robbe wakes up, Sander is gone. His heart sinks. He was right all along. This is what he gets for letting himself believe. What could he possibly have to offer someone like Sander? A fling with a half closeted guy with commitment issues? Of course he isn’t here. </p><p> </p><p>Robbe searches for his clothes in the darkness, too ashamed to turn on the light. At least here he can pretend he’s not barely holding back tears, blinking furiously and he tugs on his jeans. </p><p> </p><p>He’s looking for his shoes when he finds Sander’s pants. He freezes, blood running cold. He flips on the lights. Scattered between the blankets are Sander’s clothes. </p><p> </p><p>Robbe fumbles for his phone and dials Sander. The blankets start ringing. He digs through and finds Sander’s wallet and cellphone, cold against his hand. Fuck. Robbe grabs all of their belongings and runs for the elevator, hoping against hope that he’ll find Sander before someone else. Someone else that wouldn’t hesitate to beat him up, or worse. </p><p> </p><p>The lobby is empty and he continues his dash into the street. </p><p> </p><p>“Sander!” he calls, not caring who might hear him. He’s so stupid. Of course Sander wouldn’t just leave. Not after everything. “Sander!”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe pulls out his phone and calls Britt. His hands are shaking so much the phone trembles against his ear. He’s not even sure he’ll be able to hear her past the faint ringing in his ears. It grows louder as his panic mounts. He’s about to hang up when she finally answers. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sander,” Robbe says, like it’s the only thing that matters. It is. </p><p> </p><p>“What happened?” Britt asks, suddenly alert. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know. Everything was fine and then he just…” Robbe laughs, a little too hysterically. “I don’t know! I have no fucking idea.”</p><p> </p><p>“Calm down and talk to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s fucking naked! Someone’s going to beat the shit out of him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Send me your location,” Britt says, and Robbe envies how calm she sounds. He clings onto her voice like a lifeline. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice breaking. “Did I do something wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a pause. “I’ll meet you there,” Britt says instead. The line drops. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>Robbe’s not sure how he manages to stay calm until Britt arrives. His hands are shaking, and it’s all he can do not to immediately jump on Britt as soon as she steps out of the car. As it is, he’s sure he must look desperate enough. </p><p> </p><p>“Any news?” he asks. </p><p> </p><p>“They found him,” she says, and he finally exhales. </p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck just happened?” </p><p> </p><p>Britt is almost pitying as she regards him. It’s clear she hasn’t slept either. “He’s bipolar.” </p><p> </p><p>It takes a moment for her words to register, and even then he must’ve misheard. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s manic. They found him naked, trying to break into an art gallery. He said he wanted to get it ready for a big date.” </p><p> </p><p>Robbe knows she’s still speaking, but all he can hear is a ringing in his ears that’s growing louder and louder. Everything; all those late night adventures and spontaneity he’d thought were so exciting were nothing more than someone’s ill delusions. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey.” Britt places a hand on his shoulder. It’s probably meant to be comforting but her touch feels cold. “This happens a lot.”</p><p> </p><p>If the reassurance was supposed to make him feel better, quite the opposite. “I didn’t even notice.” He looks at Britt: calm, cool, and collected. “You would’ve noticed.”</p><p> </p><p>“We dated for a long time,” she says, which isn’t a refusal. </p><p> </p><p>“You should go,” he says. “Just make sure he’s okay.” Per usual, he couldn’t save anyone. At least this time there was someone else who could. </p><p> </p><p>“We’re both going,” Britt says. “I didn’t come all the way back here just to tell you.” She opens the car door. “Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe shakes his head. “I should’ve known.” He doesn’t think he can stand to look at Sander knowing this is all his fault. That he wanted to buy into the fantasy so much he’s hurt the person he cares about the most. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you not love him anymore?” Britt says sharply. “Is that it? One manic episode and you changed your mind?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course not!” Robbe says, appalled. Nothing could change the way he felt about Sander. </p><p> </p><p>“Then what’s the problem?” He swears Britt looks smug as she climbs into her side of the car. “Come on.” </p><p> </p><p>He stares after her for a moment. He thinks about kissing, and holding hands underwater. He thinks about blue eyes and coffee, Sander’s lips curled in a smile as he takes a sip. He thinks about the way it feels to say Sander’s name, and how no one has ever made him feel so loved. Then he gets in the car.</p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>Someone has given Sander a change of clothes, and they don’t fit. They’re almost comically large, and he looks like he’s being swallowed. He’s the most beautiful thing Robbe has ever seen.  Britt is exchanging words with the front desk but he can’t look away from Sander. </p><p> </p><p>It’s a few minutes before Sander finally looks up. His eyes land on Robbe, and they widen in panic. He storms out of the room, coming to a stop a few feet away with a rapidly paling complexion. </p><p> </p><p>“I missed you,” Robbe says. It’s inadequate, but he’s not sure what words could possibly be enough. </p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing here?” Sander demands, which isn’t exactly the response he was hoping for.</p><p> </p><p>“Britt told me where you were,” Robbe says. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”</p><p> </p><p>Sander’s shaking his head. “You have to leave. You need to stay the fuck away!”</p><p> </p><p>All Robbe’s done is leave. Leave when his mom needed him, or when the fighting became too much. “I’m not leaving.”</p><p> </p><p>Sander’s expression crumples, and it’s all Robbe can do not to hug him. “Just go. Please.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not leaving.” Now he does move closer, reaching for the other boy’s hand. </p><p> </p><p>“You say that now,” Sander says bitterly. “But what about tomorrow?”</p><p> </p><p>“Tomorrow I’ll say the same thing,” Robbe says. He tries to keep his voice calm, reassuring. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m toxic,” Sander says, and his voice breaks. “I just cause problems. I’m only going to make your life worse. Everything I touch just breaks.”</p><p> </p><p>Robbe takes his other hand. “Look at me. Hey.” He searches for Sander’s gaze and holds it. “You touched me, and I’d never felt something like it before.”</p><p> </p><p>Sander inhales, shuddering and painful. “You say that now. But sooner or later I’ll hurt you again. Even worse. And then you’ll hate me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I could never hate you,” Robbe says honestly. “Whatever happens, or doesn’t happen, we’ll deal with it together, okay? I’m here.” He’s relieved when Sander nods, small and barely visible. But it’s something. “Can I hug you?” Sander folds into him like he’s been waiting for him to ask, and Robbe holds him close enough he can almost pretend they’re the same person. </p><p> </p><p>They breathe together. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>They sleep for most of the day. Robbe tells Milan under no uncertain terms not to disturb them. The only time he emerges is to make a macchiato and toast for Sander, both of which he refuses. Robbe doesn’t push the matter, but he does leave them just in case. </p><p> </p><p>Later, he calls Britt.</p><p> </p><p>“How is he?” Britt asks.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Okay, I think. He’s sleeping a lot. I wasn’t sure if he should--I mean I don’t have his parents’ number or anything,” Robbe rambles. </p><p> </p><p>“He already let them know. I think he’s exactly where he needs to be.” She pauses, and Robbe can hear her breathing over the line. “I think you’re good for each other.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Robbe says. “For everything.” </p><p> </p><p>After, he crawls back into bed and makes sure Sander is safely tucked under the covers. Sander shifts, but doesn’t wake, and Robbe nestles back beside him and falls asleep. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>It takes a while, but slowly Sander starts to wake. It starts small at first, with the macchiato and toast, and eventually Robbe is able to coax him into the shower which helps. That and the blowjob. </p><p> </p><p>Robbe cracks the window, and manages to make Sander laugh. They sit against the headboard, Sander leaning against his shoulder as SYML plays in the background. </p><p> </p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me?” Robbe asks. </p><p> </p><p>“One of the times Britt and I broke up,” Sander says quietly. “A few years ago, I did meet someone else. But when they found out I was bipolar they freaked out.” He laughs hollowly. “And it should.”</p><p> </p><p>“My mom is sick,” Robbe says. “Schizophrenia.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shit.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. It sucks. I’m not proud, but a while ago that could’ve been me.” He takes a deep breath. “But I was wrong. And so were they. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and anyone that thinks differently is wrong.”</p><p> </p><p>“You weren’t wrong,” Sander says. His hands twist in his hair, pulling on the strands. “I don’t want you to have to sit there and feel sad. Or sorry for me.”</p><p> </p><p>“How could I feel sad?” Robbe asks lightly. “I’m looking at my boyfriend.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s the first time they’ve ever used the word, and Sander looks up at him. “Are you sure?”</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s play a game,” Robbe says. “It’s called ‘Robbe and Sander: minute by minute.’”</p><p> </p><p>“What are the rules?” Sander asks. </p><p> </p><p>“The rules are that we’re not going to be thinking ‘what if ever,’ but ‘what if in the next minute’, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“For example,” Robbe says. “In the next minute, what if we kiss?”</p><p> </p><p>Sander smiles. “That’s chill.”</p><p> </p><p>And so they do. </p><p> </p><p>::</p><p> </p><p>It’s another week before Sander finally goes home. Britt covers Robbe’s shifts while he’s gone, and he vows to buy her a house or something. It’s the least she deserves after everything. </p><p> </p><p>When Robbe’s does finally return to work, it feels weird to tie his apron on and set up shop. It’s all so familiar, like nothing’s really changed. In a way it’s reassuring. If there’s anything that’ll be a constant it’s the horrors of the food service industry. </p><p> </p><p>He loses himself in the bustle of coffee and orders, quickly falling back into his old rhythms and tricks. He still needs to hold the coffee grinder shut for it to work, and the fridge still doesn’t close properly. It’s these small consistencies that he takes comfort in. The shift passes by faster than he’d expected, and it’s with a start he realizes it’s almost time to clock out for the day. </p><p> </p><p>The bell rings. </p><p> </p><p>“Just a second!” Robbe says, from where he’s restocking the napkins. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to have to start watching my caffeine intake, because baby you make my heart palpitate,” Sander says. </p><p> </p><p>Robbe drops the napkins and pulls him into a kiss. “That was your worst yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“You love it,” Sander says smugly. </p><p> </p><p>“I love you,” Robbe corrects, which makes his boyfriend blush. “Macchiato?” </p><p> </p><p>“I’d rather buy this sexy barista I know,” Sander says sadly. “But he’s priceless.” </p><p> </p><p>Robbe shakes his head, smiling. He’s long since given up on denying Sander’s particular brand of charm. “We’ll be right out.” </p><p> </p><p>Maybe he still doesn’t know what love is, but he likes to think it feels like the sound of Sander’s laughter and the warmth of his body against his own. It’s in the way Sander says his name, and the special smile Robbe has just for him. It’s how conversation never dies, and silence never grows old. It’s everything about Sander Driesen, and Robbe wouldn’t have it any other way. </p>
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